


Don't Take That Sinner From Me

by trekbeforeyouwreck



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Self-Harm, only in a dream sequence but still, overuse of song titles to make a point, suppressed emotions out the wazoo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-03 23:31:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1759673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trekbeforeyouwreck/pseuds/trekbeforeyouwreck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after the helicarriers go down, just when Steve has given up looking, Bucky comes back to him. However, it becomes clear all too quickly that this is the beginning of a long and painful journey, and that their happily-ever after is still a long way away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Man on the Run

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 of the fic that Dionysus827 on FF.net convinced me to help write, mostly by shouting sad headcannons at me via text until i had no other choice. Together we have braved hours of sad stucky feels and written something mostly coherent, read at your own risk  
> Also: Note that other warnings will be added later into the story, so while the rating will remain as it is, there will be some possible sexy times, though again within the rating's limitations. Just FYI, and same will go for violence!  
> Anyway, hope you enjoy the story, we welcome feedback!

     In the end, Sam was the one who talked him into it. Unsurprisingly, considering that Sam was well versed in mental health, he was the one to speak up as to how unhealthy it was to trek across the globe on a man hunt for two straight years. Natasha had only shrugged and said that she thought Steve was handling things pretty well considering, but had backed off when Sam gave her the stink eye. He was only giving himself a week of recovery before resuming the search. A week spent back in his Brooklyn apartment, with nothing to do but rest, and of course wallow in his guilt and self-pity.

    Two whole years. Two long and taxing years had passed since Steve discovered The Winter Soldier. Two years since he found Bucky. Bucky Barnes...a ghost of the past that apparently that had begun not only haunting his dreams, but his every waking moment. Steve slumped against wall of his apartment. Two years of following Natasha’s leads and nothing. Not a single trace of The Winter Soldier. All Steve did uncover was the grueling torture that Bucky had gone through to become the drone he was. He uncovered how many years of pain and torment his Bucky had to go through all for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Years of digging, of fighting in dark alleys, of break ins and trying to stay hopeful, still he couldn’t find the storm, only the damage left behind. Natasha was somewhat right, this was a thread that should have never been pulled. But Steve pulled it for Bucky. He told himself it was to rid the world of the fear of The Winter Soldier, but at its core, it was to find his only living link to the past.

     Steve moved from the wall and decided to sit on the couch because that was the proper thing to do. Sit on furniture and not sulk by the wall in the corner. Heaving a heavy sigh, he threw his head back to stare at his ceiling. _Bucky, I just found you...come back to me…_

     He didn’t know when he fell asleep, but soon, Steve was lost in the world of dreams and the same recurring nightmare that had stalked him since that day on the Potomac. He still completed his mission, but Bucky shot him straight through the heart, completing his. And then the Soldier would let him watch, bleeding out on the helicarrier and unable to stop him, as he turned the gun on himself. As with every other time, Steve woke up in a cold sweat, panting, and terrified. It took him a moment to register the fact he was no longer on the couch, but somehow managed to enter his room. He never lost the feeling he was being watched.

* * *

 

     Bucky tracked Steve’s movements from the corner of the room, using his old mask and goggles to blend into the shadows. Two years of remembering, of gathering the courage to see him again. Captain America, his mission. His saviour. The light that pierced the brainwashed fog and allowed him a glimpse to who he once was. It was strange watching Steve. Stranger still to lift him from his couch to his bed, so he could sleep properly. He spared a small smile for the memory that came uncoerced of the times he had done similarly in their little Brooklyn apartment, only to have it disappear once more when he heard Steve whimper in his sleep. Bucky wasn’t used to the new Steve, even after all that time on the frontlines. Several times Steve called out his name, screaming in desperation, while Bucky sat helpless in the dark corner of his tiny bedroom, not wanting to have his presence known, but unable to bear the sound of his friend in such obvious distress. He and Steve had always carried each other’s pain, but now he feared they might collapse under the strain.

     Bucky clenched his hand at the thought of Steve trying to carry the weight of his sins. Steve deserved better than that, than being a prisoner of Bucky’s past. Steve deserved everything. Bucky only wished he could give it to him.

     Sometimes, the memories of what he had done as The Asset were hidden behind layers of coping mechanisms, denial, and constant activity. However, there was no way to avoid the onslaught of feelings when Steve turned in his sleep and Bucky saw the tiny pink scar on Steve’s chest, barely missing his heart. It was almost invisible to the naked eye, but Bucky’s enhanced eyesight allowed him to see the evidence of the day he had tried to kill his best friend in HD. All at once, Bucky remembered the feelings of the gun in his hand as he took his aim, the recoil of the gun, the way Steve had stiffened and then collapsed forward onto the rails. And then again as Steve tried to place the last circuit board in the port and nearly failed. He was there, only this time he wasn’t simply unstable and frustrated. He was screaming.

* * *

 

     Steve’s attention was drawn to the corner behind him as he heard a small sob. Blinking blearily as he instinctively turned toward the noise, Steve saw a vague figure in the darkness. Not making sudden movements, he turned around completely and positioned himself to take on the intruder. In an instant, he was lying on his back kicking and punching the attacker. He mentally chastised himself for being so slow on his reactions and fought hard to throw the attacker off. Bucky didn't remember jumping Steve, or why he did for that matter, but he soon had him pinned underneath him looking him dead in the eye, thankful the room was dark enough to hide his face from view. Not yet, too soon. As if by some cruel trick of fate, Steve’s hand reached out and touched Bucky’s metal arm, and immediately the resistance stopped. Fearing confrontation, before Steve could say anything, Bucky tried to leave, but was held tight by Steve. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to. 

     “Two years. Two years I looked for you.” Steve whispered. “I looked everywhere, Buck. I thought you were dead. I thought…” I thought I was alone again. The Winter Soldier, stoic and unspeaking, returned. This transformation had become natural over the past two years, and provided a safety net for whenever Bucky thought of this moment. He wasn't ready. Wasn't ready to deal with all that baggage. And most importantly, wasn’t ready to watch Steve leave after explaining all that he’s done over the years.

     “I thought you were gone,” Steve whispered shakily. Bucky couldn’t answer. He had shot this man, this glorious, righteous, stupid man only seconds, no years, it was years, ago. He had shot Steve. “Bucky, answer me. Please. I lost you, to find you, to lose you again, to find you again. Talk to me.” Steve all but begged. Bucky lowered his head and slowly turned around to look him in the eye. Using his free hand, Bucky took off the goggles, but left the mask on, still not ready to let down his guard completely. As the goggles fell to the floor, Steve got off the bed and moved closer to Bucky. “Bucky, if this is about this”, he indicates the mark on his chest, “then don’t worry about it. It wasn't you. It wasn't Bucky. It was The Winter Soldier. Please. Talk to me.” Bucky remained stoic, but the crack of Steve’s normally unwavering voice caused the wall to falter. Steve was his constant, and it was obvious that Bucky had broken him. God, he could never undo this, he could never repent for all the ways he had shattered his friend. It was so, so selfish of him to want to try. It was in that moment Steve took his chance and hugged his best friend. Needing to truly feel he was alive and that he was his Bucky. Hesitantly, Steve let go of Bucky’s hand now that the danger had apparently passed. As soon as he did though, Bucky simply gripped his wrist tightly and whispered something unintelligible from under the mask, more of an animalistic whine than any real language. When Steve pulled back to remove the mask however, Bucky followed with a panicked flail, horrifyingly congruous with a drowning man. Steve leaned back immediately, working to undo the strap of the mask by feel with his free hand instead, and never letting his other hand stop or slow its steady, comforting motions along Bucky’s back. He echoed Bucky’s mutterings, sometimes in the little Russian he knew, but mostly in English, broken declarations of love and what he hoped were comforting promises.

     Once he managed to remove the mask, he realized just how panicked Bucky was. He was screaming and sobbing, clutching Steve with the full force of his metal arm and his not-inconsiderable flesh arm, hard enough that even Steve would bruise for a good hour or so. It was his words, however, that chilled Steve to the bones and ripped his heart out of his chest. Bucky wasn't crying for himself, for the horrors he had endured, for the _seventy years_ of pain he had endured. Bucky was crying for _Steve_. 

     “God, Steve, I, I, I coulda killed- I woulda killed you,” he sobbed, “Shot you, can’t forgive me for that, no one can, I don’t deserve it, don’t deserve you.” He trembled, taking big gulps of air as he released the overwhelming emotion of two years running from the man that was written into his very being, the only thing keeping him running being the thought that Steve would be safer without him.  

     “Shhh Bucks, it’s ok. Really. That wasn't you. That wasn't you. The person you are, right now, that’s you,” Steve continued to hold him, hanging on as if Bucky was a lifeline. 

     “Steve...The Winter Soldier is me. I may not be in the driver’s seat but I see everything. I felt everything. I felt it when I shot you…” Bucky broke off into more tears as his flesh and blood arm worked its way to rest over the scar on Steve’s chest. “I shot you. Right here.” Pressing his hand over the now puckered and pink scar, he trembled with utter terror at the thought of what he had almost done. Even as panic consumed him, something quieted within him when he felt the steady rise and fall of Steve’s chest beneath his palm. Sometimes, when the memories returned, he didn't know what order they belonged in, and he had almost expected to feel the uneven and rattling breaths of an asthmatic kid. But even that small comfort could not anchor him from the rip tide of emotion that was swiftly carrying him into full-blown panic. Steve was barely hanging onto his composure himself. He had Bucky in his arms after two years of agony. Two years of searching, finally over. Steve put one hand over Bucky’s, interlocking fingers, and rested his forehead against Bucky’s head. 

     “I forgive you Buck, I forgive you. Now if you’ll only forgive me…” Steve whispered into the darkness. When he saw the blank look in Bucky’s eyes though, he quickly backtracked. “Lay down Bucky. Like old times. We’ll talk more in the morning, okay? Please?” How could Bucky say no to that? Bucky did as he was told and laid down stiffly on Steve’s bed. Steve didn’t know what to think or how to describe the way he felt. He only knew he had his best friend back. Steve slipped into bed alongside Bucky, back turned to him so they faced away from each other. He trusted Bucky, until the end of the line.


	2. I'm begging you, please...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuddles, hot chocolate, Awkward Situations, what more could you want? Featuring Sam!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two! Wow, time flies! Anyway, just wanted to say that this fic will probably be updated every 3-5 days, depending on how much free time we have. Thank you for the comments and kudos, I'm glad you guys like it so far, and I hope we can keep the angst coming~
> 
> See End Notes for Warnings (these will contain spoilers)

     If only things were that easy. Only an hour or so after Bucky's dark rimmed eyes had finally drifted shut, he woke up screaming. He knew he was safe, he knew Steve was safe, but once he started he couldn't stop. Steve was awake almost immediately, scooping him up into his arms and holding him through the tremors, even when Bucky's nails left red marks down his arms. Even then, Steve’s embrace was never constricting, just a barely there touch that let him know that his friend was with him, let him know that they were both alive.

     He calmed down much faster this time, mainly because he was so exhausted he didn't have the energy to continue his violent sobbing. Bucky sagged against Steve’s chest, his body unwilling to support him. It seemed as though his body was betraying him quite often these days.

     When Bucky's face was mostly dry, if still streaked with the heavy tear tracks left by the paint under his eyes, Steve pulled them both off the bed and into the bathroom so he could help Bucky clean up. Might as well, since it seemed neither of them were going to be getting anymore sleep tonight. He sat Bucky down on the toilet while he grabbed a wet washcloth, and then painstakingly worked to remove what remained of the black paint. As he wiped Bucky's face, he began to see the man he spent so much of his life with. With each streak of paint gone, the handsomeness that once emanated from Bucky returned, and that strange warm feeling began to form in Steve’s gut once again. Dismissing the feeling, Steve finished wiping Bucky's face and kneeled to look him dead in the eye. Looking into the soul of that poor damaged being made Steve’s heart shatter, and the guilt of letting him fall those many years ago stabbed into his very being. Without breaking eye contact, Steve slowly placed his hand over Bucky's, more instinct and impulse than any train of thought.

     Taking Bucky's hand in his, Steve moves them from the bathroom into the living room and leaves Bucky on the couch before moving into the kitchen. Working quickly, he whips up some hot chocolate for the two of them, just like he used to when they had just enough money back in the thirties and forties. Handing a cup to his guest, Steve glanced at his list of pop culture references he needed to catch up on.

     “What’s this?” Bucky asked, investigating the drink.

     “My specialty” Steve merely replied, with a smirk. Bucky took a sip and groaned in delight. It was an innocent noise, one of someone who hadn't tasted real food in decades, and it was also ridiculously erotic. Steve’s mind went somewhere completely uncalled for and quite surprising. He nearly choked on his own hot chocolate. Bucky jumped at his friend’s coughing fit.

     “Steve, you OK?” Bucky inquired, looking at Steve very peculiarly.

     “Fine, fine, just, ah,” Steve cleared his throat, “Um, just give me a sec”. The look Bucky gave him fond, but exasperated, was more like the Bucky Steve had known so long ago than he had seen since before the Red Room’s experiments. Steve’s breath caught in his throat, oh god, he was in trouble. Steve realized the feeling he had in his gut. The warm, tingly feeling, that was comforting and concerning was not the familial love he had thought it was all those years. Bucky groaned again, unaware of how he was affecting his friend. It was definitely not a platonic feeling. Steve choked again on his drink. Bucky began finding slight joy in this and made more and more sounds of delight with each sip. At this point, Steve could no longer deny the ache he was feeling. This was going to make things a little more complicated.

     Luckily, that was when Sam made use of his key card to enter the apartment without knocking (god, was he raised in a barn) and strolled into the kitchen.

     “Hey Steve, just wanted to--” He notices Bucky sitting on the couch. “WHAT THE HELL?” Quickly, Steve sat on the couch next to Bucky, but kept a decent distance away as to conceal his...condition. “When did you find him?”

     “He kinda showed up,” Steve muttered quickly, trying to distract his thoughts from his feelings.

     “‘Kinda showed up’ is not a good enough explanation for an assassin wearing your pajamas and watching movies in your living room!” Sam exclaimed, “God, it’s like babysitting a five year old.”

     “But its the truth. Oh, um, also, sorry for destroying your suit.” Bucky remarked in defense of his friend. All of this, the banter, the warmth, sticking up for Steve instinctively- it felt like returning to a childhood home, one you didn’t remember in detail and hadn't expected to still be standing, but still felt welcoming, even if it wasn't quite the same. That’s it. Steve was his home. Bucky felt something unfurl within him, like a seed that was finally receiving the water it need to grow. It was odd, to feel anything after so many years, but this felt right. Pure. Bucky snuck a quick glance over to Steve and then back to Sam. In that instance, Bucky realized how handsome Steve was. As the soldier, he had not taken stock of his target’s appearance, and during the war- well, there wasn't time to admire the scenery. Now, scanning over his friend’s musculature and sharp jaw, it was impossible to ignore how truly cookie cutter handsome he was. An all-American hero alright, he thought appreciatively. Granted he was adorable pre-Serum, but the Steve that sat next to him was truly breath-taking. Bucky caught himself drifting away from the conversation and stiffened when he realized he had lost his concentration for the first time since he had become self-aware again. After reassuring himself that neither of the other men had noticed his lapse in attention, he tried to focus entirely on the man at the door.

     “It’s fine, you weren't in your right mind. How come you didn't tell me you found him?” Sam quickly changed the subject.

     “Because he’s literally been here for about two hours” Steve replied meagerly.

     “Two hours, and he’s already in your clothes and watching a movie….huh”. Now Sam smirked, while Steve blushed furiously. “Well, I was just checking to make sure you didn't run off to continue your man hunt without me. I’ll...uh...leave you to it,” Sam trailed off, giving both of them a wink before quickly retreating back out the door, whistling loudly and carefree.

     “Well, he’s a piece of work,” Bucky muttered under his breath before taking another sip of his hot chocolate, delightedly returning to his drink now that Sam had decided to bow out. This time, he didn't hold back at all, moaning exaggeratedly just to get a reaction from Steve. As if on command, Steve choked on his drink again. If Steve didn't know better, he would have sworn Bucky was doing it on purpose. Was he? Shaking his head, Steve focused intently on the movie at hand after that, and tried not to let his mind wander with Bucky sitting a mere couch cushion away. As the movie ended, Steve had made his way closer to Bucky, resting against him, with Bucky's flesh and blood arm draped absently over his shoulder. When the movie finally ended, Steve just turned off the T.V, and nuzzled closer into the heat of his human pillow. It had been a long time since allowed himself to be truly close to anyone. He and Sam had done what they needed to for each other in the field, whether that was covering each other in a firefight, supporting each other emotionally, or providing some small amount of physical comfort. It wasn't like this, however. Nothing was ever the same without Bucky. Within a few minutes, he succumbed to his exhaustion and fell into a peaceful slumber against his friend.

     Bucky watched as Steve fell asleep against him. He looked so peaceful, so unmoved. In that instance, years of pain were gone and it was the 40's all over again. Just the two of them against the world. He impulsively reached to stroke Steve’s hair, something he hadn't done for decades, and froze just as suddenly with his metal hand hovering over Steve’s mussed locks. The hand Hydra had given to him.

     Bucky shook with contained sobs, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. The past seventy years did happen. He had the scars to prove it. They both did. Looking at the sleeping man in his arms, Bucky couldn't feel anything but regret. He wished he didn't commit all those assassinations as The Winter Soldier, or as a freelancer when he was accidentally let free for a year or two. He wanted a different life, different circumstances. But for right now, he just looked at Steve, who looked as peaceful sleeping as he did those many years ago. Kissing his forehead, Bucky accidentally let out several sobs from deep within his throat. His tears held seventy years of longing, of hidden desperation. While he cut off his sobs by covering his mouth with his metal hand, his tears hit Steve on the face, causing him to stir and pull out of his slumber.

     Steve was in the middle of a dreamless sleep when he felt something cold hit his face. Softly, he heard the sound of gut-wrenching gasps and sobs. He didn't need to open his eyes to know it was Bucky. Even if he wasn't aware how fragile his friend was right now, he could feel the tremors Bucky was desperately trying to contain. Not knowing what to do, Steve turned into his friend, bringing up his arms to soothe his pain. Shifting their positions, he pulled Bucky into his lap, surrounding him in warmth and comfort. It was the purest gesture of love that Bucky had received in years, and something within him calmed at Steve’s obvious acceptance and affection. After a long moments, Steve pulled back from the embrace and gazed at him with a question in his eyes.

     “What?” Bucky rasped, quickly trying to cover up the pain in his voice and wipe the tear mark from his face.

     “The couch isn't very comfy. I’d much rather the bed. I was wondering if you’d join me. You are kinda comfy” Steve said groggily. _And because I want to be sure you won’t run off again_. Steve retracted his hand and turned to head into his room, trusting his friend to follow. He never even saw the figure standing behind the window. Steve took one step, and the figure fired. To Bucky, it all happened in slow motion. The sound of the gun. The reflex to throw a knife in the direction of the bullet, knowing it hit its mark by the sound of metal against flesh and the groan of the shooter. Steve hitting the floor. Everything. Bucky didn't know what to do. He called Sam off of Steve’s phone and just held the bleeding man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *warning for spoilers*  
> Note that this chapter contains gun violence, with one character getting shot. It's not graphic, but please note it for anyone who is triggered.


End file.
